The Elevator
by Gunney
Summary: Please review! Pete asks Mac to show for one the Phoenix Foundation's shindigs. From the moment Mac steps into the elevator things go wrong.
1. Chapter 1

The Elevator

Part I

Since I've know the man I've been telling Pete Thornton that I hate parties. I don't really do big crowds, fancy tuxes, schmoozing and boozing. I never have mastered small talk and if a big important funder for the Phoenix Foundation comes up to me and asks where I think the most improvement could be made…I'll tell him. Whether he really wants to hear or not. And somehow my snafu's and social faux pas never do get back to Pete. Because he keeps inviting me.

Most of the time I manage to find something important to do a few weeks in advance, like forays into middle eastern countries and getting trapped in chemical plants or stranded in hot air balloons. God knows I can't claim desperately needed vacation as a reason to avoid a suaree.

This particular gathering, according to Pete, trumped all others past, present and future. From the office to his car there was no give in Pete's insistence that I be there, nor could I talk the secretary into scheduling a last minute emergency appendectomy for me. I was going. Period.

Pete had even gone to the trouble of pre-renting a tux for me. And if that didn't beat all there was a limo on the docks at six with instructions not to leave without me safely tucked away in the back. That's the trouble with best friends also being your boss. Hard to say no, especially when you have no choice to begin with.

So I was relatively resigned, on a cool Friday evening, when the limosene pulled up in front of the Hyatt Regency on Bernhardt. I had to wait for the driver to let me out, but once I hit the concrete I was resolved. I would schmooze, I would mingle, and I would be on my best behavior. And I would never, ever let Pete talk me into another party.

I must have looked important in the black tux, or maybe it was the ivory silk shirt, mother of pearl cuff links and indigo bow tie. Could've been the black tennis shoes. I drew a few looks on the way in, and I didn't mind returning them. One of the guaranteed benefits of these shindigs were the princesses that showed up looking for Mr. Charming.

I will never claim to be an expert on women but there is one thing that I have figured out. How to spot a woman that is looking. She'll have her hair up, her shoulders tanned and bare, enough makeup to set her glowing and a color that perfectly reflects her eyes. She won't be drinking because she doesn't want her hand to be cold, should it be taken by anyone. And she wants to be free for that possible prince to sweep her onto the dance floor.

It was just such a woman or two that eyeballed me as I stepped through the revolving glass doors and into the vast open lobby. I can't say what she was wearing but I can tell you that her eyes were green.

Most of the interior of the hotel was done up in gold, brass, crystal and water. The latter cascaded down so many surfaces and under so many walkways that a person had to fight the urge to hold his breath when he first walked in. Plants both living and silk sprouted unnaturally throughout the cavernous room. But none of the space had been devoted to the Phoenix Foundation's party.

In fact without an invitation there was no way to know where in the towering hotel the party was being held. Partly for security reasons and partly to preserve the feel of the hotel lobby, or so I assumed. If the invitation wasn't plain enough, of course, there was the line of elegantly clad party guests queing up at the bank of elevators, _glass_ elevators, that scaled the forty floors in a stately manner. All the better to allow the guests to see exactly how elaborate the interior designer was paid to be. Did I mention that the lobby windows stretched all forty stories?

"Never again, Pete." I muttered, staring straight up as one of the elevators started its ascent. "Never again."

"MacGyver!"

Ugh. I'd been spotted.

"Hey Pete."

Dressed in his classic pin stripe tux Pete, looking far more comfortable in his monkey suit than I was in mine, came striding over, vacating a group of Asian diplomats. They headed for the elevators and I managed to paste on a smile as I reached out a hand for Pete's.

"You made it!"

"You _doubted_ I would…" I asked, shooting both eyebrows up. "I felt like the president, _locked_ into my _limo._"

Pete chuckled amiably but there was a sparkle of mischief and triumph in his eyes. "I've had lots of time to get used to you MacGyver."

"Don't I know it." I muttered, sinking one hand in a pocket, or trying to. Confound it if Pete hadn't given me a tux with no pockets in the pants. I'd had to slit the stitches in the breast pocket to find a place to put the Swiss Army Knife.

Pete chuckled again and waved a hand at the diplomats as they boarded an elevator car together. "Some of the men I'd like you to meet, before you disappear on me tonight. Sikuzu, and his brother and father. Two generations of a very powerful, industrial family."

"Big bucks for the Phoenix Foundation," I agreed.

"And big influence. The youngest of the group has been leaning ever so slightly towards more 'democratic' ways of thinking, Mac. This could mean more than the Phoenix Foundation."

Pete's face lit up as he spoke and a lengthy examination answered all the questions I'd had about why I was at the party, and why it had been so important. "Alright." I said, nodding. I put a reassuring hand on Pete's shoulder and nodded again when he looked at me.

"I appreciate it, Mac."

I smirked at the relief in his voice and let my friend get about ten feet away before the movement of an elevator sparked a momentary concern.

"Uh….Pete? There isn't any way that I might be able to avoid the um…" I thumbed towards the glass cages rising and falling like recent gas prices and forced the apprehension out of my voice and onto my face. I'm not scared of heights…persay. I just don't see the need to put myself in a glass box when a steel one would do just as nicely.

"Ha…of course Mac. There are freight elevators around the corner. Pierre!"

Relief let me release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and I rested my palm over my heart to make sure it still beat, while Thornton pointed at me and briefly made a request of the concierge he had just called.

The blessed man nodded and Pete gave me a wave before he went one way, and Pierre the other. I followed Pierre.

* * *

><p>In a hotel of Hyatt Regency quality, around the corner meant through two corridors and a Laundromat, but true to his word, Pete's promised freight elevator awaited me along with another colorfully clad party guest. I guess I wasn't the only one with a dislike for glass rooms.<p>

"You weel be on the catwalk when you arrive. You will follow ze signs to the terrace. Enjoy your evening, Monsier…Madamme." Pierre bowed stiffly and zipped off once the lady and I had entered the car. She stood as far from the door and the control panel as possible and said nothing so I did the honors, punched the button marked "Catwalk" and leaned back gratefully against the safety bar as the doors closed.

Another small pleasure about freight elevators. No elevator music.

Now. My stoic companion would not have fallen under the "looking" category. The most glaring piece of evidence was the gold ring on her left hand. Had she been Caucasian and far more scantily clad I might have considered it, but she was very definitely asian. She was about four feet nothing, and couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, maybe 105 with the full weight of the traditional kimono, knot and headdress added in.

"Evening." I said, gallantly.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I always say. My voice broke over the hum of the elevator easily but she never blinked. She barely seemed to breathe for that matter.

"My name's MacGyver."

Don't get me wrong. I know a thing or two about the restrained cultures of the east. I've spent more time than I care to remember watching the good, the bad and the ugly of cultures like hers unfold when exposed to the heart of America. There are a great many things about eastern tradition that I have deep respect for. I tried hard to let them outweigh the things I couldn't stand.

I was pondering another snappy way to break the silence when the lights flickered, the gears groaned and the elevator shuddered. Some part of my brain told me I should have expected as much. I put my hands out to catch my self and kept the smaller figure of the woman in the corner of my eye until the car was completely stopped. Thankfully the lights stayed on.

One glance told me that my fellow trappee was still statuesque and unharmed. The elevator fell silent again and my mind went from damage control to Mr. Fix-it.

I punched the catwalk button once and waited. Nothing happened so I punched a few of the other buttons. The gears groaned a bit and the walls vibrated but we didn't move anywhere. I glanced over at the lady, who stared at the door.

At least she wasn't screaming. I pulled the emergency stop.

At least she wasn't pregnant. I depressed the emergency stop and pulled it again. Nothing.

"Okay…" Under the button panel was the emergency call box and I pulled open the thin aluminum door wondering vaguely why they always put the box as far down on the wall as possible. I flipped the on/off switch, waited for the green light and said, "Hello?"

The box reminded me instantly of someone else I had recently met. In fact she was more talkative than the box was.

"The freight elevator on the east side has frozen around the 38th level." Nothing. "Hello. Mayday, mayday…"

I looked the thing over wondering if there wasn't a volume control somewhere that I had missed, or another switch I was supposed to throw. I was two seconds away from getting at the Swiss Army Knife and pulling open the panel when I heard a disturbingly familiar sound.

Two clicks of metal against metal.

The same sound the hammer of a gun makes when it is being cocked.

My heart leapt to my throat and on instinct I looked to the door, images of Murdoc or some other enemy jumping to the back of my mind. What I saw reflected in the stainless steel was worse. I lunged towards the tiny woman, one hand reaching for the revolver she was turning on herself and the other seeking to wrap around her waist, traditional knotted blanket and all, to pull her into some sort of restraining hold.

The gun went off, bright and loud in the tiny space. Plastic and glass shattered above us and I ducked my head and squeezed my eyes shut as debris fell. A second later warm steel was against my palm. I couldn't tell which way the muzzle was pointed but I closed my fist around the small gun anyway, pulling the tiny woman in against my chest. She screamed, the gun went off a second time, my hand exploded along with the lights and we were plunged into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

I've been shot before. In fact I've been shot far too many times. In hindsight the number of times I've managed not to get shot probably outweigh the times I have been shot. This time it didn't feel like I had been shot. It did feel like Afghanistan.

My left hand was throbbing and burning but I knew I still had the gun. And the lady must have let go of it because my hand, and the spent weapon were lying against the carpeted floor of the elevator. Thankfully _I_ was still attached to my hand.

My right hand held her against me where she raged, screamed and sobbed and jabbed a small fist into my right side over and over.

Way deep down under the shock and the pain a part of me felt suddenly like a new father, when he first hears his newborn daughter cry. She was alive enough to scream. For all the questions I didn't have answers to, that one fact grounded me.

I sucked in as deep a breath as I could trying force oxygen into my brain, and let the woman go, rolling onto my left side so that I could shield my wounded hand and the gun. In the darkness I felt her weight leave me and heard her scramble to the opposite wall of the elevator.

God it hurt.

It took a while to get upright again and even then all I managed was to prop my shoulders against the button panel. If the elevator had had emergency lights before we got on they had been shot out or knocked out since. We were plunged in total darkness. And I was fresh out of matches.

"Next time…" I grunted, surprised at how strained my voice sounded. "I'll wear the tux with matches in it."

The gun was slick with blood, as was a section of my shirt and jacket. I could feel the damp against my chest. I didn't know how bad it was and the cluster of nerves screaming at me from between my thumb and pointer finger were no help either. Breathing was harder than it needed to be but if I learned nothing else from my grampa Harry, I did learn that it wasn't in a MacGyver to quit. Thinking clearly on the other hand, no pun intended, was not a part of the package.

From the opposite corner of the elevator a string of volatile and angry curses brought me back from memories of Harry. She stopped after a brief spout then started again, breaking into sobs the second time.

"You aren't gettin' it back." I growled. If she hadn't been grousing about the gun she was on her own. With my right hand I felt around for the safety bar above my head, then pulled myself upright far enough to work my way out of the tux jacket.

Pete was gonna kill me for this. But then the small measure of sadistic glee that bubbled up, and out of me in the form of a crazed giggle, over rode the guilt and I used the expensive jacket as a tourniquet. After retrieving my Swiss Army Knife of course.

The nominal first aid took up more energy than I liked. That could mean any number of things. Blood loss, shock, and on down the line. My mind kept drawing on my own history. Past nightmares, past rescues, past long hours spent watching my friends be the ones losing blood, losing life. Why did she try to kill herself?

I felt around me with my right hand, my left propped (wadding and all) on my bent knees, and found the revolver again. I may not like guns, and I don't use them, but that doesn't mean I haven't. I knew enough to be able to check that the rest of the chambers were empty then I slipped the gun down my shirt front.

Next time, a tux _with _pockets!

She had gone quiet again. I thought she might have been whimpering in tune to my pain filled grunts, and my brain conjured up a few other weapons she might have been able to hide in her traditional dress. Weapons I hadn't the energy or the light to do anything about.

"Do you mind telling me…" I began, glancing blindly towards what I assumed was the corner she hid in. "Your name…at least?"

After a moment I got a sobbing sigh in response. It was more than I expected.

"I get the impression that you are new…to this country, but it's almighty peculiar…in fact…_illegal_ to kill one's self."

Either the sound of my own voice growing louder, or the anger that was causing the volume increase gave me enough energy to sit up straighter. It hurt, but I managed.

"I can't say much about your choice of location…or company…but you should know that our relationship has been irrevocably…altered."

Something shifted, cloth against cloth, or cloth against carpet, I couldn't tell. "You and me…we will _never_ be the same.."

The sound of movement drew closer, as did the faint scent of jasmine.

I felt small boney fingers bump against my leg, then pat their way up to my left shoulder.

Her hand remained there, warm and strong despite the frailty her size might imply. She rustled and shifted for a bit then seemed to settle. A second later she drew in a breath and a soft voice asked a question in a language I couldn't remember.

Then,

"Are you…alright?"

I could'a cried. I wished desperately that I could see. The woman spoke English. Halting, heavily accented, but…English.

I shunted aside a half dozen sharp comments and responded as gently as possible, "No…"

It didn't come out all that gentle. I tried harder when I asked her, "Are you hurt?"

Silk shifted on silk and she sniffled quietly.

"No."

There was only one other question I wanted answered but it didn't seem the time to ask it. I knew there were things I could and should have been doing, things that could shed light and fresh air on the situation and maybe get us out all the sooner.

Funny how shock and pain slow everything down.

"What's your name?"

I could feel her reluctance almost immediately. The weight of her hand disappeared from my shoulder and she shifted again, away from me this time. Had we been on a park bench in a cherry tree grove, or riding a subway I would have let her draw back and dropped the conversation altogether. But…

"Listen…we are stuck in an elevator, in a very tall building, full of very busy people that may not be able to reach us for a couple of hours…at best. You may have had some powerful reasons for trying what you did…and if you don't want to tell me those-"

She started to mumble and I cut myself off too late to catch the short phrase.

"What did-" I started and again she managed to say all she had to say underneath my own voice.

I clamped my mouth shut and waited.

"Sizuku Ah Young. I am wife of Sizuku Ling San, President of Sizuku Industry."

I've probably told you about the beaten puppy I once came across as a kid. And I saw and heard it in the stories of some friends that I helped free from an opium baron and his sadistic foreman. I recognized it in her voice just as clearly as I had recognized the sound of the hammer being drawn back.

She'd been through something that even her culture would frown on. And it had to do with her husband. It had to do with the family name, a name that I knew I had heard before.

Something else struck me about the tone of her voice. Maybe it had been the addition of fear when she spoke her name, or the way her volume dropped as she introduced herself. But something gripped my stomach and made me sick in a way that had nothing to do with my hand.

"Ah Young, how old are you?"

Again she hesitated, again I heard her draw in a shaking breath that sounded wet with fresh tears.

"I am…fourteen…years old."


	3. Chapter 3

Part III

"What are you doing?" Ah Young asked. In the darkness, despite the cramped quarters her voice still sounded small, fragile.

I glanced reflexively at the corner I left her sitting in, then turned back to the door panels that were inches from the tip of my nose.

"Still workin' on this door." I told her. I was frustrated, but not at her. She'd barely said a word in the past hour. The little reminder that I wasn't alone in the elevator was welcome, in fact. But it wouldn't get the door open any faster.

"Most elevators have an emergency release on them…" I grunted in explanation, wedging a few of the fingers on my right hand into the door jamb again. I got the first knuckles of my fingers to curl over the edge before I back pedaled until my arm was straight and parallel to the door, my shoulders and back pressed toward the same wall.

"It's a deadman switch that kicks the…"

Pull, MacGyver.

"Motor that controls the door…"

Pull, Mac. Like you mean it. Like her life depends on it.

"Into neutral….agh!"

The faintest strip of light melted into the darkness, the same few centimeters that I had managed to get the on the past two attempts.

"And it didn't do that.." I breathed, peering through the crack at light and steel before I stretched out along the wall again. Another hard yank would do it.

I put all of my weight against the lever that my arm had become and jerked back hard, concentrating on maintaining my balance and doing more damage to the door than my shoulder. Another inch of light misted into the elevator, faint but there, even if it did more to illuminate the edges of the outer door than the elevator car.

My right arm was starting to cramp with the effort of keeping the door from snapping shut. Maintaining outward tension while twisting 180 degrees in the opposite direction was no picnic either. This time around, however, there was enough room between the inner doors to wedge my left shoulder in the crack.

My wounded hand throbbed in protest but I gave it only a second of preparation before I planted both my sneakered feet against carpet and put everything I had left into forcing doors apart. Inch by excruciating inch.

It reminded me a little of the time I had to rescue a handful of scientists and techs from the inner bowels of a chemical plant that had been bombed. I'd nearly broken my back playing Jr. Stuntman then, moving mounds of dirt and support beams in a single thrust.

I gained about a foot and a half before I froze again, gasping for breath.

"Which means either something is jamming these doors closed…or…"

It _shouldn't_ have been this hard to move the inner door. The dead man switch should have been released making the doors a breeze to slide open. Ah Young and I _should_ have been out of this elevator and in the welcoming arms of EMTs by now.

Turning again, still keeping tension on the door, in a two foot space was awkward but I managed it.

"...there is a current still reaching the dead man switch…" I continued the thought, using the explanation as an excuse to rest and breathe.

Propping my right foot up on the inner door opposite the one I had been opening, I kicked out and raised the other foot up as well literally wedging myself like a living Jaws of Life between the two panels.

It was actually comfortable, briefly, and I let myself breathe again.

"Ah Young…"She didn't answer but I could hear her shift on the elevator floor. "If this doesn't work," I panted, "You may have to wedge me outta here."

I sucked two breaths as deep into my lungs as I could get them and put every muscle left to my discretion to work. My vocal chords even joined in, my wounded hand throbbing in time to the drum beat of my pulse. For a moment nothing happened. Then something just behind my left ear snapped in the door and it gave way, sinking into the wall entirely.

I was pitched to the floor in the sudden gap and remembered at the last second to roll, managing not to crush my bandaged hand underneath me. The sudden impact of my weight caused the car to groan and it vibrated for a second or two. Probably considering giving up the ghost and tossing the both of us to the bottom of the shaft. Thirty-eight feet. Sounded exciting.

I hugged the floor, frozen, and waited. The steel box settled, the door panel stayed blessedly open and heavenly light filtered into our prison making me feel almost saintly. Almost. Slowly I rolled onto my back, knees bent, and resituated my wounded hand in the sling I had devised out of my cummerbund.

"I've come to a conclusion my dear." God it felt good to lie down. I closed my eyes as precious fresh air reached my nostrils. No more dank, _Eau de Elevator_ for us.

"I think…" I said, with an optimistic enthusiasm that I was only just beginning to feel. I tilted my head back and my chin up till I could see the young, elegantly dressed girl still perched in the corner. She was upside down, and a little disheveled, but anything was better than darkness. "…we're gonna get outta here."

Her eyes lifted and met mine. Dark, coal that glittered ever so faintly from behind the severe makeup and the dark streaks of mascara that the tears had created down her cheeks.

Just a child, I thought. God…_fourteen_, and she was dressed to look 30.

I sat up, going slow enough to avoid pain as much as possible, and settled against the back wall of the small room, easily a foot and a half away from Ah Young. I watched her to make certain that she was comfortable with the distance.

She kept her eyes on me but didn't shrink back any further into the corner. I tried a smile, and caught the briefest glimpse of a return smile before her eyes shifted downward. I followed her gaze, considered the wad of expensive bandaging that hid my hand entirely and thought long and hard about whether or not I really wanted to see the damage that had been done to it.

"Do you have a nickname, Ah Young?" I asked, fingering a loose edge of ripped cloth. Did I really want to unwrap it? Would it be worth the pain? Did I have the energy to care? Always asking too many questions, MacGyver, I thought.

The girl didn't answer me, so I followed the guidelines of conversation that she and I had developed and kept talking.

"You know…a nick name. My friends call me Mac, for example…instead of MacGyver all the time." I waved my left hand to emphasize the ease with which the one syllable name could be used and tilted my head toward her again, smirking.

Her eyes tracked my movements actively but her position and the voluminous kimono hid the rest of her face. I sighed amiably. I was getting good at talking to myself, again.

Once more I stared down at my hand, my stomach rolling with apprehension. I didn't want to touch it, with every bone in my body. It'd take a few more minutes for me to work up the energy to tackle the door again. Now was the perfect time.

I would rather attend a thousand debutante balls. Consecutively.

"Kay."

My brows furrowed. "Kay?"

"My name…before…it was Kang Ah Young."

Something close to an instant natural high popped in my brain and I stored the way her voice had changed deep in my memory. "I get it…K-A-Y. Kay." I muttered.

She had sounded relieved when she said her maiden name and had spoken with more confidence than before. She couldn't have been married…or forced into union, I should say, for very long.

"I guess in your language it wouldn't get too confusing." I watched her for a reaction, saw her eyes glint, and smirked. Good enough.

The throbbing in my hand had calmed, my breathing back to normal for the time being. The other aches were waiting their turn to be announced thankfully and I became aware again of the weight of the revolver against my bare skin. I laid my good hand against it unconsciously, remembering with disturbing clarity the image of Kay pointing the muzzle at herself reflected on the steel door. And not at her head either, but her stomach. I knew more than I cared to about the traditions that centered around ritual suicide in the east. Maybe the act of shooting herself in the stomach took the place of stabbing herself. Maybe…

A beat later I found myself trying to stare through the kimono at her belly. Maybe she hadn't been trying to kill herself. Maybe she was trying to kill someone else. The thought made me more angry than piteous. I didn't want to figure out who I was more angry at. But the anger fueled my brain back into working order and I pushed myself back to my feet.

Through the open door panel we were given a magnificent view of about five feet of solid concrete wall, six inches of metal plating and two and a half feet of closed door panels. I pulled half-heartedly at the doors. They were shut just about as firmly as the others. Fine American crafting at its best. The space I would have to squeeze through if I did manage to get the doors open was just barely enough for my shoulders. Kay would have to lose the ceremonial knot before she could squeeze through.

"On the other hand…" I muttered, stepping towards the back of the elevator and staring upward. The two shots from the gun had busted the plastic grating and fluorescent lights to unrecognizable bits but the emergency hatch leading to the roof of the elevator was undamaged. I pressed a palm to the panel and heaved. It swung up and out of view, clanging against the top of the car. Finally something that opened without muscle strain.

"Don't go away…" I told Kay then grabbed the lip of the escape hatch with one hand and pulled up hard, planting my feet on the safety rails attached to the sides of the elevator for leverage until I could worm my way out of the car. The dim light from the open doors did nothing for the empty black of the elevator shaft. I managed to find a solid place to kneel amidst the clutter of gears, pulleys, and machinery mounted on the roof and started feeling my way around.

It wasn't until my hand hit the cables, slid down to the pulleys and scraped over the light film of grease that a plan started to form in my brain.

To tell the truth it scared me half to death. And it depended on a great many things that I could not see. So, first things first.

Undoing the button of my shirt nearest the waistline of my pants I pulled the gun out and started banging the hard steel against every hard object I could find. It took a few tries before found what I was looking for.

It took even longer to rip my right sleeve off, without access to my wounded fingers, but I managed. The grease that coated the pulley was automatically applied directly to the disc over a long time period by a grease trap attached to the side of the mechanism. I found it, a plastic container about six inches by four inches by five. It was attached with screws to the side of the pulley casing.

I removed the plastic cover and dunked my torn off sleeve into the well, soaking the cloth in grease. It was thick, spongy and I hoped, the right consistency to provide enough light. And long enough for me to do what I was always already regretting having thought of.

A make shift hurricane lantern of sorts.

I cut a slender wedge out of the center of the plastic cover with my knife, about an inch in length. Tearing the saturated fabric, I seperated a four inch strip and set it over the pulleys, shoving the rest of the once expensive material into the trap. Replacing the cover I fished through the slat I had cut with the one of the blades, caught the fabric and tugged about three quarters of an inch up through. Have wick, will travel.

"I hope..." I muttered.

Wiping my grease soaked hand on my pants, I grabbed the revolver up again banging around until I found what had caused a spark before. It had to be a support strut and was attached just above a horizontal surface. I draped my extra bit of soaked cloth on the flat surface and struck the revolver at a downward angle, creating spark after spark until it finally showered down onto the soaked cloth.

The sparks smoldered, flames licked brightly and I dropped the gun and snatched up the flaming bit, transferring it as quickly as I dared toward the wick of my makeshift lantern.

The flame caught, and flared.

"Come on…"

It fluttered and dipped.

"Come on…!"

It strengthened and grew.

"YES!" I shouted in triumph, my voice echoing in the shaft and nearly extinguishing my infant fire. I winced and froze.

It sputtered, then stabilized.

I could'a cried.


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV

My lantern worked like a charm. Once I had backed off and let the flame breathe a little, it grew and consumed most of the fabric that was exposed to the air. The airtight seal on the grease trap kept the fire from burning its way through the plastic cover and I had light.

Light that would have done a great job of illuminating the look of panic and despair on my face, I'd imagine, if someone had been taking a picture at the time. Now I could see why the elevator had stopped, why it had been groaning and shifting, and why I had to work so hard at getting the doors to open.

Most older elevators didn't have pulleys on the cars themselves. The car was attached to the system via high tension wires and the pulleys would be mounted at the top and the bottom of the shaft. The car had no function but to be dragged up or let down according to the electrical signals being sent to the control box.

The bigger the elevator, the more weight it would have to carry, and some ingenious company…Gentu Mechanics, apparently, had devised a secondary pulley system on the car itself.

It appeared to work something like the drive wheels on a locomotive. A motor ran a shaft, consequently the shaft that I had laid my starter wick on, that pushed and tugged at the pulleys on the elevator car allowing the car itself to generate momentum of its own. Along with the machinery that had to be at the top of the shaft this little addition probably allowed for smoother stops and starts, and for more acceleration as the car raced to its destination.

The cables ran a complicated maze through the double wheel system, reducing the weight of the car through the wonderful science of physics. If all the parts were made to specification the system should have worked flawlessly. As it turned out that was a much bigger "if" than anticipated.

One of the pulleys was bigger. The simple mistake in the tilt of the groove had compounded over time, fraying the wires as they passed through and coating the other wheel with tiny flecks of metallic dust. Most of the mechanism glittered with it.

The dust that had landed inside the groove of the second pulley had been flattened and pressed by heat and time, reducing the friction between pulley and cable considerably. The fraying of the wire had whittled it down to near nothing, and if it weren't for the emergency cables, what remained of the main cables would have snapped long ago.

The doors wouldn't open because power had never been an issue. I must have snapped off the safety latch in the track of the door when I tried to force them open.

Above me was the second set of doors, easily more accessible from the roof of the car than inside it. If I wanted to force them open like I had the ones in the car I would have to put all my weight on the front end of the car, and run the risk of snapping what remained of the main cable in the process. With nothing else in easy reach to brace myself on that put my first plan out of action.

Below me I could hear weight shifting, along with cloth and I leaned back enough to look down through the roof access hatch. Kay had migrated to where she could see up.

"How you doin' down there?"

"I can see you…" She sounded surprised, maybe even miffed. I smirked tiredly.

"I managed to put together a lantern of sorts." I shrugged and looked back to the mess I still had to work through. I was getting tired again, and my hand was beginning to burn. The way something burns when it might be getting infected.

I'd been sweating for the past hour or so, but despite the heat from the open flame and the exertion, I wasn't anymore. Not a good sign medically speaking.

If we were going to get out by way of the roof I would have to get Kay up through the hatch. Hopefully she could climb most of the way but if she couldn't it might mean more than my hand would allow me to do.

Come on, MacGyver. You've been shot, poisoned, and whacked on the head an indeterminable amount of times. Surely a busted hand won't stand in your way.

"MacGyver!"

"Pete?"

The door in front of me started to vibrate with the impact of fists striking against it and Pete's voice rang out again, only slightly muffled by the panels.

"MacGyver! Are you alright?"

"God Pete! Thank god!" I laughed and choked and struggled to my feet again. The man had incredible timing!

"Oh, thank god. He's here. Level twenty-eight."

"Pete! What took you so long?" I demanded keeping my distance from the weak cable and watching the door. From the other side I heard Pete laugh.

"What are you complaining about Mac, I was the one running up and down forty flights of stairs." Other voices, more muffled than Pete's, approached and started talking over each other, issuing orders in short clipped sentences. "We'll have these doors open soon. Are you alright, can you open the doors on your end?"

"The only door to open is yours, Pete." I told him then glanced back down into the elevator car. "Kay…we're gettin' outta here but you're going to have to climb up here with me."

Kay's eyes met mine, then she looked down at something in the elevator car then back to me, shaking her head, no.

"What do you mean, no?" I asked, dropping my voice. "It's not that far and I can help you a little, but we gotta go now."

In response she backed completely out of sight. A second later the doors were wedged open a crack and artificial light bled into the car below.

"Kay…" I called down, leaning further into the hatch. As I did my eyes passed over where I had tossed the gun on the roof of the car after using it to light the lantern. I snatched it up. I knew it was no longer loaded, and checked it a second time before I lowered my arm into the car showing her what I held. "Look…you can have this back if it'll help…I'm not leaving here without you, and if you want I can protect you from whatever you're afraid of."

She didn't say anything. Maybe she thought I was angry, maybe she figured I was going to turn her over to her husband, or the police, or whatever it was that she was struggling with. The part of me that wanted to get the both of us out of the elevator and back on solid ground was overruling the other parts that fully agreed with being angry, seeking revenge. There was no way to explain that to her and I didn't know how else to show it.

"Ah Young I want us both to get outta here. Once that happens you can…you can come with me to the hospital. My friend out there, Pete, he's a very powerful man. He can arrange protective custody for you, or asylum, or whatever it is that you want but none of that can happen if we don't get out of here now."

As if to emphasize my point the elevator gave a groan and sagged a bit. I shot a hurried glance toward the pulley system. It was still frozen but the frayed section of cable had slipped down closer to the pulleys, closer to the uneven edge that had been fraying it, closer to it snapping entirely. Already the men on the outside of the door had managed to wedge it open almost six inches, and the gap was growing steadily. But we were running out of town.

I looked back down into the hole, this time lowering my head in. Kay sat, curled in on herself in the corner farthest from the roof hatch. "Kay…please. This thing isn't going to stay indefinitely and you will not like the result of a twenty story drop!"

Through the crack I could more clearly hear the voices of the men working to wedge open the door. They sounded as frustrated, and as surprised by the amount of effort it took, as I had been.

"Ah Young!" I hissed, refocusing on her. "Maybe you wanted to kill yourself earlier, maybe you want to die now, but I will not leave you here, even if that means falling and dying with you. Killing yourself may be honorable to your people but taking me with you is NOT." I was angry. Angry at the sacrificial mentality of her people and the religion that taught her that this was the way. It was impossible to keep it from my voice.

"Right?" I demanded, just as angrily. The elevator jerked again, and this time I looked up fast enough to see the cable sliding through the pulleys. If that didn't beat all, the car was as suicidal as Kay was.

The movement of the elevator must have done the trick. Kay got to her feet and headed back towards the roof hatch. I put my right arm down through the gap and she grabbed hold with both of her small hands. As I started to lift the elevator creaked and groaned and the cable slipped dangerously, the frayed section disappearing into the maze of metal.

Above me the doors had been opened nearly two feet and Pete had impatiently stuck his head through the gap. I could hear his shocked reaction underneath the groan of effort it took to bodily lift Kay through the roof hatch. She was tiny, but leverage was leverage and I didn't have much of it. Nor did I have time.

"Catch her, Pete!" I shouted and threw my shoulders backward. Just as the frayed end of the cable gave way I tossed my burden, ceremonial knot and all, towards the gap in the door and the waiting arms of Pete and our rescuers.

At the same time I felt the top of the elevator sag beneath me then completely disappear. The elevator was going down and it was taking me with it. I was going to fall and land horribly at the bottom and if I was lucky and the elevator didn't explode I would die a longer, more painful death. Finally becoming a victim to the demon of heights that had plagued me since childhood.

This was it, I was a goner.

I was trying to come up with a prayer to say on the way down when I realized that I wasn't falling. I could still feel Kay's hands on my left wrist and seconds later there were more hands.

I never have been a fan of surprises, but this one time I made an exception. I was dragged upward, then through the narrow gap of the door and out into the bright light of the hallway. I was allowed to collapse against the far wall and into Pete's irate arms, sucking in gulp after gulp of fresh cool air.

"MacGyver…what did you do to yourself?" He demanded. The look on his face was uncomfortably familiar to me. Disgust, concern, empathy and a healthy serving of disbelief.

"It's a l-"

"A long story, Pete…Yeah I know. Are you _alright_?"

"I will be.." I reassured him, nodding tiredly. Already someone was trying to un-bandage and get at my hand and I pulled it away wincing. "Kay..where is she?"

"The girl, just over there. There looking after her, Mac, you need to let-"

"Nah..Pete. You gotta keep her in your sight. Don't let anyone disappear with her, not even her husband. Something's going on.."

Pete's eyes narrowed, looking up away from where I had slumped on the floor to where Ah Young had to be. "What are you talking about, Mac? That's-"

"I know…or at least I think I know. Please, you gotta trust me on this. I promised we would protect her."

"From _what_?"

Down the hall I could hear more people approaching. EMT's probably, with the most glorious gurney I'd ever seen in my life.

"I don't know. But she was scared in there Pete, and it wasn't claustrophobia. Promise me."

"Alright, alright. I promise. But it's not going to be easy."

I craned my neck around till I could see Kay who had become the recent attention of one of the EMTs. She sat trembling, silent, just the way she had been after I stopped her from shooting herself.

"I know." I said.


	5. Chapter 5

Part V

I would love to tell you that the next thing I felt was the pain killers coursing through my system from the relative safety of an emergency room gurney. That all I had to worry about for 24 hours was fending off over zealous nurses and finding someone to drive me back to the house boat so that I could hole up and mend. I would also have loved knowing that Kay was in good hands with Pete and the others at the Phoenix Foundation and my job was done. Two and a half hours of guns, elevators and tuxes was all that was needed out of ol' MacGyver this week. Time to clock in, go home, take a vacation.

I _told _Pete, I told him I hated parties.

I was in the process of saying just that to him when outraged voices down the hallway broke over the din of concerned medical professionals at work.

"You will let me through. I am Sikuzu Hi Chung. That is my wife! I wish her to be brought to me. I will take her from this place. Let me pass!"

Equally as insistent as Sikuzu was the voice of Jim Skon, head of security for the hotel, and aware of at least some of the details.

"I realize that, Mr. Sikuzu, and I apologize for the inconvenience to you and your wife. But until the police arrive and get statements from her, and from Mr. MacGyver, we can not let anyone through, nor can anyone leave."

"I have diplomatic immunity." Sikuzu insisted, and in the gap between the two EMTs working on my hand I could see the diminutive man straighten to his full height. He was only about a foot taller than Kay but the anger in his coal black eyes made up for it.

"That may be so, Mr. Sikuzu. But your wife doesn't." Skon told him, matter of fact and level. There was no give in his voice, nor disrespect. A good man.

Sikuzu didn't reply to the challenge and I could see Skon's shoulders relax. My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Skon had been bluffing, and he'd been right. Kay didn't have diplomatic immunity. Wonder why?

Sikuzu wasn't accepting Skon's authority however and I could hear Pete's voice jumping in to save the day and curb the powerful man's temper.

"As I was telling you Mr. Sikuzu, it will take time for us to clear up what has happened here. And to make certain that your wife is unharmed. Perhaps we could return to your suite. I will make sure that Mrs. Sikuzu is in good hands."

"She should not be in anyone's hands. But mine!"

Their voices faded a bit as Pete walked the man down the hall a ways and a sharp jab inside the ball of pain at the end of my arm made me jump and refocus on what the medics were doing.

"Sorry about that, sir." One of them said, not looking away from whatever it was he was plucking from the wound.

"No problem.." I muttered, going back to studiously ignoring them. I glanced around for Kay, perched on her own gurney in the hallway. A blanket had been thrown around her shoulders and she sat alone, her head bowed and her feet tucked up underneath her. A tiny, frozen figure on the bed. Waiting.

Pete's answer to keeping Sikuzu at bay and getting to the bottom of what was going on had been to call the police. He had told them there had been an attempt on the life of a diplomat, which was sorta true, and it got the local constabulary as well as a branch of the FBI, buzzing. They were securing the party goers on the roof and any one in the lobby at the moment, making sure possible suspects didn't get away. In the interim the EMTs had started tending to my hand and hotel security had been called to our floor just in case.

With Pete tempering powerful Asian business men, and Skon and the medics busy there was no one left to sit with Kay. At first she had been sitting up and glancing over my way every few minutes but the arrival of her husband seemed to have cowed her.

"You're awful lucky, Mister." The youngest of the EMTs told me, finally putting his tweezers away and getting something else out of the big bag on the stretcher with me. "Bullet was small enough, it just took a big chunk out of skin and muscle. Most of the cartilage looks alright." The kid pressed two thick pads against either side of the hole between my thumb and pointer finger while his partner reached for a roll of gauze.

"Course next time you probably shouldn't try stopping bullets with your hand. Only works for Superman, am I right?"

I made something of an effort to smile at the joke. The kid was trying, after all, to be light hearted about it.

"You'll need about a half a dozen stitches, and should probably get an x-ray at the hospital."

They finished wrapping my hand, secured the gauze with tape and offered me a triangle bandage for a sling. I tapped the fingers of my good hand against the cummerbund still dangling from my neck and said, "Already got one." The kid helped me feed my hand through the loop.

They started packing their bag, and putting my blood soaked garments into a separate bag. I slipped off the stretcher, took a moment to reconnoiter and walked carefully over to where Kay sat. With a soft groan I lowered myself onto her stretcher and leaned back against the wall it had been pushed up against. After a moment she leaned towards me, her shoulders just touching mine.

The headdress and the makeup had been removed by the EMTs in the process of checking Kay for injuries and she didn't seem to mind. She had in fact looked relieved when she was given a wet cloth to wipe it away. Now she was totally different. Her hair under the headdress was finer, and lighter in shade. It had been cut just above her shoulders and it looked like a rough job. Her skin was gentle olive, her lips just a shade darker than the rest and her eyes very young looking without the lining around them. I had seen the same reaction from the medic that I had had in the elevator.

She was very clearly too young to be married, by any one's standards.

"How ya doin?" I asked her quietly, keeping the corner of my eye on Pete and Sikuzu down the hall. Pete had turned the business tycoon around so that Sikuzu couldn't see Kay as easily.

"That is my husband.." Her face was turned away from me and her voice was meek and tired.

"Yeah…doesn't seem like such a nice guy."

She didn't respond vocally but I felt her shoulder move and realized that she had shrugged. I looked down at her. It had been a very youthful action, that shrug, not to mention an American one. I accepted her answer with a similar shrug, and leaned my head back against the wall.

"You and he been married long?"

"No."

"Where do you come from Kay?"

"Canada."

I thought long and hard to come up with a sage response to that.

"Canada!"

Kay nodded, laying her head against my shoulder, not reacting to the surprise in my voice.

"You were born in Canada?"

"Vancouver…In little China." Her voice sounded distant, like she was remembering the place and I let her drift while my mind struggled to compensate. Maybe it was the pain getting to me.

"That would make you….Canadian..wouldn't it?" I asked, a little facetious.

Kay paused at the tone of my voice then admitted, "Yes."

"Oh.." I sighed through my nose, pursed my lips and thought for a bit. Down the hall Sikuzu spat something vicious at Pete but the sound was so distant and muffled I couldn't make it out. Pete took it like he always did, stoically with a side of mustard, and kept the man talking.

"Is Sizuku Canadian?"

"No…he comes from Japan."

"Is that where his company is? Japan?"

"I don't know." She said, sounding like a teenager again. I had to admit it was refreshing.

"It would make sense…" I told her, keeping an eye on the two men at the end of the hall. If Sizuku had managed to settle in Canada, gaining some hold by marrying a Canadian citizen no matter how illegally, his next step would be working his way into the Americas. Probably going to find twelve year old here in the States to marry him into the country, I thought bitterly. I tried flexing my hand under the pressure of the heavy bandages. It hurt, and I grit my teeth looking down at the wad of white poking out of the cummerbund.

I'd caught glimpses of the wound when the EMTs were working on it. It wasn't pretty. Most of the visible damage had been done by powder burns and close contact to the muzzle. The bullet hadn't had time to expand at all before it went through. My actions in the elevator had been impulsive and could have gone horribly wrong. But what had started it in the first place? Why had it been so important for Kay to take her life, and why in such a way, at a high profile party, in a freight elevator?

Down the hall Sikuzu seemed to have subsided and he stood off to the side with Pete, ignoring the man now. Pete was on a phone, probably speaking with someone from the foundation, or maybe the FBI.

"You like hockey?"

"I like skating." She answered. I grinned at the positive response.

"But not hockey?"

"No. I'm too small. They would skate over me."

"Give it a few years, you could bulk up." I told her, leaning my head away to show her my grin. She turned and offered a brief one of her own.

"Kay why did you have that gun?"

The smile disappeared and tears started to well in her eyes. She looked down and away from me and stiffened again.

"Listen," I dropped my voice to a confidential whisper, letting the fingers of my good hand rest on her arm. I lifted the bandaged limb into her view and said, "This I can handle. This I'm going to survive. But not knowing why a lovely, smart young girl, who should be having the time of her life right now skating up in Canada, married some pedophile and tried to shoot herself with a gun..might just kill me."

That brought her back a bit and her eyes jumped up to meet mine. I kept hold of her gaze, desperately hoping I wasn't opening a box of trouble that I couldn't close up again.

"I get the feeling there are people back home who would want you to tell me, and to let me help you. And if there aren't there's at least one guy just down the hall who does…" I pointed to Pete, who now stood alone. Sikuzu had stalked off somewhere when I wasn't watching.

"And the other one is sitting right here beside you."

It all came out then, without warning and without stop.

"My mother and father died in a car crash. I was taken to live with my sister. Her husband beat her, killed their baby before she could give birth. He…did things to me. And my sister…she found I was going to have her husband baby. She say there is a man looking for a wife. That I should marry him. Lay with him. That I should say it is his baby." Tears streamed down her face and emotion got in the way of her voice but she continued on.

"But he would not lie with me. He only wanted to marry a Canadian. He bring me here, and I am pregnant. I can not tell him. He will know that I have no honor. He is powerful, and has many friends. He will be dishonored if I do not kill baby. If I do not kill me. He will leave me here. With no one." Sobs were choking her. I pulled her in against me, shielding her face with my shoulder. I rubbed over her back with my good hand and tried desperately to hail Pete over with my mind alone.

"I don't want a baby." She wailed into my shirt and I held her all the tighter.

Had I known I was opening a box of live mines I wouldn't have begun.


End file.
